


Find a Way Out of the Dark

by cold_feets



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_feets/pseuds/cold_feets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nixon +/ Winters. Bastogne makes Nix nervous.  Dick counts the days carefully, the moon lost behind the clouds.  There are too many companies tangled up in the fog, and the Germans practically sitting on top of them.  There's no place to hide, no safe direction to run in, but Dick just claps him on the shoulder and says, "Keep an eye on them for me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find a Way Out of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> WINTERS IS A WEREWOLF AU. That unfortunately can't be any more than this because I get too hung up on when the actual full moons were and they screw things up. DAMN YOU, D-DAY.

Lew knows that Dick Winters signed on for this for a lot of different reasons. They spent enough of their limited spare time in OCS discussing duty and democracy and all the other reasons a man would enlist. It isn't until later that he learns that Dick believes it's the best way to make up for all that he's done. Fighting to protect people because sometimes there's no one there to protect them from him.

Which is bull, even if Nix has seen with his own eyes what Dick is capable of, has known since Toccoa.

_"Jesus. I thought I was drunk."_

_"You were. Doesn't mean you didn't see it."_

Winters doesn’t tell anyone about the drinking, and Nixon doesn’t tell anyone about Dick’s empty bed and the hulking shadow he saw in the night.

Nixon waits up for him when he can, though Winters seems to have it down to a science at this point. He's been doing this for years, and sure, a war complicates things, but it's not like Dick can ignore it until this mess is all over.

But Bastogne makes Nix nervous. Dick counts the days carefully, the moon lost behind the clouds. There are too many companies tangled up in the fog, and the Germans practically sitting on top of them. There's no place to hide, no safe direction to run in, but Dick just claps him on the shoulder and says, "Keep an eye on them for me."

And that's just like Dick. Worried about his men to the last.

Lew doesn't sleep that night. He sits in his foxhole, flask in hand, and does not drink, not even to fight off the cold, and he counts. He counts to a thousand over and over again until he sees the first faint smudge of daylight on the horizon and hears familiar footsteps in the snow.

"Dick? You all right?"

It isn't until Dick comes closer that Nix sees: he's pale and blank-eyed, which is the norm for Bastogne, but then he sees the stains of blood beneath his ODs, on his hands, peeking beneath his collar.

"What happened?"

"There was a patrol," Dick croaks. "Germans. Four of them, maybe more."

"And?"

He shakes his head, not meeting Nix's eye. "Came to and they were dead."

But Dick doesn't even know how many there were, so when he says _dead_ what he means is _ripped apart_.

Lew nods and swallows. "And you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Jesus," he breathes. He grabs Dick by the arm and pulls him over to his foxhole. "Glad you're on our side, at least."

Dick allows Lew to push him down into the dirt and pull the tarp over them. He pulls his canteen out of his coat and fumbles with numb fingers to unscrew the top and wet a cloth. Dick stares at it for a moment, and Lew sighs, setting to work wiping the blood from his friend's skin.

"They'll ask questions," he explains. "You covered in blood, but no action."

Beneath his fingers, Dick's skin is overwarm, and that's maybe the one good thing to come out of this. He always runs hot for a few days after the change, and if there was ever a time they could use a little extra warmth around, it's here in miserable, fucking Bastogne.

Dick coughs and takes a deep breath. His eyes finally regain some of their focus, and he watches as Lew wipes the blood and dirt from his knuckles.

"Didn't miss anything, then?" he asks.

"Nah, quiet night of freezing our asses off."

He nods absently, and Lew reaches up to wipe a streak of blood from his neck, stilling him with one hand against his face. Dick blinks too fast, jaw tense beneath Lew's thumb.

"Hey," Nix whispers in the dark. "Tell me you're all right."

It's a long moment before Dick's eyes meet his and even then it's only for a second before they drift shut, his rough cheek still pressed to Nix's palm. He breathes deep and even, and for a second Lew thinks maybe he's fallen asleep. But then his eyelids flutter, and Dick looks at him dead on, centered, grounded, whole, and says, "I'm all right."

"You're staying here," Nix tells him.

"Lew."

"You need to sleep. And we don't need you right now, so..."

Dick looks at him for a long time, then turns his head, listening, senses still sharp, and whatever he hears or does not hear soothes his anxieties enough for him to say, "All right."

He slumps back against the wall of the foxhole, pressed close against Lew’s side. Lew picks up his discarded coffee, long cold, grimaces as he sniffs it, and chokes it down. A few minutes later, Dick’s head lands against his shoulder.

Nix lets out a long breath and thanks whatever gods are listening that they’ve made it through another night.


End file.
